


Harry Potter And The Other Chair

by Ellionne



Series: Writing Challenges [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Based On A Generated Title, Gen, Harry Potter is a Horcrux, M/M, Not Beta Read, Occlumency (Harry Potter), Pre-Relationship, Written in 30, snape is a bad teacher
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:55:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27857894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellionne/pseuds/Ellionne
Summary: There weren’t words to describe how much Harry hated his private lessons with Snape.”Just a Master Occlumens should try to enter the sanctuary of their own mind. It is nothing to trifle with. But of course, Harry Potter is an exception to the rule, dived in head-first, and survived on pure luck again.”If he had been in his sanctuary and  it was supposed to be solely for him accessible… why had there been two chairs?
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Series: Writing Challenges [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2011612
Comments: 20
Kudos: 126





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Do NOT repost, recreate or translate.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter one can be read as One Shot

There weren’t words to describe how much Harry hated his private lessons with Snape. 

They were just downright _awful_. There was no way, this was how one was supposed to learn Occlumency. Admittedly, it sounded like a useful skill to have, but he really couldn’t see someone like Lucius Malfoy allow for his precious Heir to be violated again and again just to learn it.

It was more likely that Snape was just an asshole on purpose. 

Harry had no idea how Dumbledore did think it a good idea to put Harry in private lessons with Snape of all people. If Harry would be on fire, Snape would _maybe_ piss on him. That was the kind of help Harry expected to receive from the man. He was no one Harry wanted to have in his mind.

The old git probably ripped him raw again and again on purpose. Harry hadn’t received a single helpful explanation so far. Even Hermione with just a quick skimming of books had been more helpful than Snape who was supposed to be an expert in the field. 

So Harry _knew_ he was supposed to empty his mind over months of repetitive mediation. He _knew_ he was supposed to be comfortable. He _knew_ his mind wasn’t supposed to be attacked again and again without him having any barriers in place. Nothing of what he was supposed to do had happened thus far. 

But Harry didn’t need to be a genius to know that it wouldn’t be the best course of action to call Snape out on his bullshit. He had his plate full with Umbridge’s detentions, he didn’t need to aggravate Snape even further, thank you very much.

Harry had tried mediation before but he was unable to stop his always running mind, maybe though-? He centred himself, tried to concentrate on a feeling of being safe and protected, just before Snape levelled his wand on him, and Harry _fell._

He fell and fell, and fell some more.

It felt like an eternity until suddenly, he could make out a fast approaching speck of colour beneath him. Harry pinched his eye’s shut and tried to secure his head with his arms even though he knew it wouldn’t help him with how fast the ground was coming closer.

He prepared himself for an impact but all he felt was a soft feeling on his bare forearms. He opened a single eye carefully to peek on his surroundings and was met with- red wool? Harry blinked and sat up abruptly. He was kneeling on a soft red wool carpet in front of a- lit fireplace? Harry could feel the warmth of the fire, could hear the cracking of the burning wood and the smell of it. 

But how-?

He had been in the dungeons with Snape, nowhere quite as comfy as here. He looked around, noticed the walls surrounding the small room being covered in bookshelves. There were no windows, so maybe he was still in the dungeons? 

In front of the fireplace were two armchairs, they looked incredible comfy as Harry came closer to inspect them. Between the armchairs was a small table, on it a delicate green cup in which Harry could see the dried remainings of tea. If he had more a mind to divination he could probably try to read the ground but he felt his imagination was probably all needed to come up with this room and he hadn’t had anything left to forge a reading of his subconscious tea grounds. 

Besides, the book resting open on the armrest of the chair next to the cup was way more interesting. 

He picked it up but there was no way to decipher the non-sensical chicken scratch on the pages. Was this a dream? He remembered Hermione once being devasted due to the fact she couldn’t read books while dreaming.

Harry turned around and picked up a random book out of a shelf - it had the same pretty colour as the cup - to try his luck again but before he could take a closer look at it, there was an ice-cold sensation at his back and he was _pulled_ with force up an up and up till he opened his eyes and tried to spring off the bed he was lying on. 

He looked wildly around, trying to make sense of what just had happened.

Madame Pomfrey was standing next to the bed, wand still in hand, looking concerned at him. Snape, wearing a mulish expression, tried to be invisible at the far corner of the room while Dumbledore levelled his eyes on Harry. The twinkle was absent but Harry couldn’t make any sense of the expression the Headmaster wore. 

“Are you alright, my boy?”

“I- uhm. What?” 

Harry was surprised by his voice. He sounded out of breath. Now that he noticed it, his chest was also heaving way too fast- was he hyperventilating? Was it shock? Harry remembered feeling like that before. Usually at the end of a school year. Before he could dwell on it, Madame Pomfrey handed him a vial and mentioned for him to take it. As abysmal as Harry was at potions, he was able to recognize a calming drought on sight.

He knocked it back and felt instantly calming down. His breath normalized, he didn’t hear his blood rushing in his ears anymore.

“What happened?”

Before the witch or Snape could say anything, Dumbledore pitched in. “It seemed, Severus was a bit too eager teaching you and you lost control over your defences and withdrew back to your _sanctuary_. We needed to pull you out of it for you didn’t seem to be able to come back on your own.”

“My what?”

“Your _sanctuary_ , you foolish boy. If you would have listened to anything I tried to get into your head in our lessons you would know it is the most inner part of your mind. Even the most proficient Legilimens would not able to get into a _sanctuary_ without destroying the mind entirely. And just a Master Occlumens should try to enter their own _sanctuary_. It is nothing to trifle with. But of course _,_ _Harry Potter_ is an exception to the rule and decided to take matters on his own hand and survived on pure luck again.”

Harry stared blankly at his Professor’s face and opened his mouth to retort. He was pretty sure the only thing Snape had ever said to him was to empty his mind. There hadn’t been any further explanations and Harry had sure as hell never heard of a _sanctuary_ or any other room that was supposed to be just for him.

On that thought, all words died on his tongue.

If he had been in his _sanctuary_ , and the _sanctuary_ was supposed to be solely for him accessible… why had there been two chairs?


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry discovers why there are two chairs in the sanctuary of his mind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my beta [Sage](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeuroWriter14/pseuds/NeuroWriter14) <3
> 
> Well, here we are - the continuation that wasn't planned.  
> It’s outlined, but fair warning: there will be no schedule.
> 
> I wanted (a few weeks ago when I wrote this chapter) to write something without the need to think about consequences so I figured turning a one-shot into a two-shot would be the way to go… but well- it has caught a plot *facepalm*

Harry huffed, done with the world and his own mind, as he flopped down gracelessly into the left of the comfy chairs. He didn’t even try to open a random book or to find an exit as he had done for the last weeks. 

Since the incident in Snape’s oh-so-helpful lesson _,_ he had ended up in his sanctuary almost every damn night. It was maddening. Or rather- it _should_ literally be maddening, for all accounts. 

After his stint in the hospital wing, he had pleaded with Hermione for research help and so far, all that Snape had said about the sanctuary seemed to be true. Probably a first for that greasy git as far as Harry was concerned. 

So, Harry should be insane. 

He wondered idly what it said about his state of mind that he wasn’t. It sure as hell couldn’t be due to grandiose Occlumency skills. With Snape’s _careful_ instructions they were still abysmal at best, downright obstructive at worst.

Harry sank further into the surprisingly plush pillows as he smelled the rich aroma of a perfectly brewed Earl Gray. On the table to his right had a cup appeared, which held no resemblance to the delicate green china he had seen occasionally before.

This one was, by all means, _ugly_ .  
It was more tankard than a cup, in a colour that reminded him uncomfortably of the dress-robes Ron had been forced to wear to the Yule Ball last year. There was a long crack along the side and the handle was missing. 

It was love at first sight.

Harry sat back up and took the cup into both hands, letting the warmth seep into them. A quick look confirmed what he had already anticipated - there was a _tad_ milk in his tea. Perfection. He took a sip and settled back into his armchair, this time much more relaxed than before.

If madness was equatable with nightly peace and quiet, with perfectly brewed tea and lounging in comfy warmth - Harry would roll with it and not complain. God knows, he could use some peace with the shitshow that was his life.

He closed his eyes and hummed softly as he brought the cup back to his lips to take another sip.

“I can’t tell if you’re brave or stupid for taking a drink from a table you didn’t see being set. But then again, isn’t it always the struggle with Gryffindors?”

Harry flinched and ended up breathing his tea instead of swallowing it. He tried to wrestle his coughing fit back down but when he looked to his side - following the sound of the voice - he fell right back in due to the uncontrolled but sharp intake of breath.

“There, there. I didn’t do all the work to keep you sane just for you to drown in tea while you’re asleep.”

Harry felt a rush of warmth engulfing him, a strange but familiar taste in the air around him, and suddenly he was able to breathe without struggles again. 

“I- you- _what?_ ”

“Oh, would you look at that - so eloquent. I wanted to relent that you aren’t stupid per se but instead just missing knowledge. But now, I think, I should reconsider.”

Harry felt himself flushing bright in mortification. Where was his peaceful and quiet night?

“Do you have to be a sassy asshole?!”

“Well, you _are_ a snarky old soul, aren’t you - _Sir?”_

 _Oh god,_ talk about mortification and stupid Gryffindor bravery. Harry hid his burning face behind his hands again and willed the memory away.

Telling Snape in class he didn’t need to call him ‘Sir’ was the single most stupid Gryffindor-ish thing Harry had ever done. Including back-talking Umbridge, outflying a dragon, using a Time-Turner to help a convict escape, slaying a Basilisk, running head-first into a row of death traps, and… even more Gryffindor-ish than the one time he tried to strike back at Dudley when his uncle was able to see them.

And again- Harry wondered about his state of mind, considering encounters with Voldemort only took up third place on his stupid-bravery-scale, after Snape and Vernon.  
Maybe Snape had been right and he was getting insane. Wasn’t it a sign to _not_ know about being a nutcase? 

He peered between his fingers to look at his- well. His what?

“Are you my new imaginary bully because I don’t have enough of them outside of my head?”

The man snorted. At least Harry guessed it was a man due to the depth of his voice. They were maybe an arm’s length apart but Harry had difficulties to make out features. It was as if he had lost his glasses, and was sitting in a foggy new moon night. Trying to make out some features was almost nauseating, but Harry was nothing if not stubborn - another Gryffindor treat, he fully embraced.

“Don’t be absurd. I’m merely a part of you. An obviously more sophisticated part, mind you, but a part nonetheless. You don’t need to worry about me, Harry.” 

Under Harry’s intense stare, the wobbly lines of his conversation partner seemed to straighten out. It _was_ a man - and a tall one at that. Broad shoulders, his long legs crossed over one another, clad in fine clothes - not robes, but still obviously wizarding wear. He had an air of confidence around him Harry was sure never to be able to achieve for himself.

As he looked further up, Harry suppressed a guffaw. Apparently, even in his mind, he wasn’t able to imagine himself as elegant and posed. The man looked nothing like him. Classic English aristocratic features with intelligent dark eyes and an arrogant smirk instead of his own waifish appearance with his always present mulish expression and only his green eyes worthy of notice. The man was even older than Harry, although he wasn’t able to assign a particular age but considering the silver linings around his temples, in stark contrast to his otherwise brown, wavy hair, he had to be _way_ older than Harry.  
Old soul indeed, it seemed. 

“You look nothing like me, though.”

The man only quirked one perfectly formed eyebrow. “So you just want to talk with yourself? A bit narcissistic, are we?” While he spoke, his features seemed to melt and shift and suddenly - with the same fancy clothes, elegant air and arrogant smirk - Harry was face to face with himself and it was so utterly _wrong_ he couldn’t hold back a full-body shudder.

“Nevermind. I changed my mind, you’re fine as you were.”

The _other_ Harry huffed in amusement, opened his mouth and-

  
  


Harry was wide awake. 

Huh. 

Usually, he felt drained as if climbing his way out of the _sanctuary_ took bodily effort. Maybe the contact with his mind guy had helped to sort him out a bit? At least he hadn’t tried to kill him - that was a clear plus in his book.

Harry sighed. His standards for labelling someone as friendly were really low these days. Honestly, they always had been and Harry really should know better after the whole debacle that had been his second year and- 

No. Harry would not go down that road today. There was no reason to think about _him_. It wasn’t as if his mind guy was anything like-

  
Oh, _fuck_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m fully aware that I smashed the timeline with >the quote< but honestly, I don’t care. :D  
> 

**Author's Note:**

> I have [tumblr](https://ellionne.tumblr.com/) now. Feel free to check it out and throw me a question or something. :D


End file.
